


Take It Easy (Love Nothing)

by a_gay_poster



Category: Naruto
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gay_poster/pseuds/a_gay_poster
Summary: Lee contracts a rare illness during a routine assignment that forces him to make a choice between his deepest desires and his goals for being a ninja.





	Take It Easy (Love Nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> Major trigger warning for graphic descriptions of vomiting. This is not a sweet, romantic Hanahaki AU. Living things growing inside your body isn't pretty, and Lee is going to experience all the ugliness of it. If you are at all emetophobic, I would suggest steering clear of this fic. Although this story isn't about eating disorders (they are not discussed or mentioned), some of the content might also be triggering for readers with bulimia or related behaviors, so please be cautious when reading.

When the delegation from Suna arrives at Konoha’s massive gates, Lee and Tenten are already there waiting for them. The path to the walls that surround the village is wide and flat, lined with trees, so the Kazekage and his guard are visible for quite some time before they actually make it to the entryway. Although he’s sure it’s unbecoming of a jounin, Lee begins beaming and waving the moment the Sand nin come into view. By the time they arrive at the gate proper, he’s perspiring slightly in the direct sunlight. 

“Gaara! It’s wonderful to see you!” Lee bows deeply. He feels a sharp tug at the back of his jumpsuit and straightens immediately. 

To his left, Tenten rolls her eyes. “Protocol,” she mutters, out of the side of her mouth. 

“Oh! What I mean to say is- Kazekage-sama and his honored guard, we welcome you to the Hidden Leaf Village!” Lee grins, turning his face just so the light catches his teeth. 

Gaara’s eyes flick between the gathered ninja impassively. After a moment, he clears his throat. “There’s no need for formalities,” he says placidly, taking a step towards Lee. 

Lee immediately extends his hand to shake. Gaara regards it for an instant, then brushes it aside with his elbow, seizing Lee in an awkward embrace. Lee pauses for just a second before returning the hug. Gaara’s back, through his light jacket, is warm from sunlight and travel. His hands and arms, even through Lee’s thick jounin vest, are firm and tightly muscled.

“It is indeed wonderful to see you again, old friend,” Gaara mutters, stepping back.

Lee opens his mouth to reply, but he feels a tickle in the back of his throat. He stifles a cough behind his hand. 

Kankuro, just behind Gaara’s shoulder, rolls his eyes. “Hey Lee,” he intones, sticking out his fist and bumping it casually against Lee’s shoulders. He extends his hand to Tenten in turn, and they tap fists. 

Lee clenches his eyes shut. “So cool…” he mutters. 

Matsuri, behind Gaara’s other shoulder, leans over and grabs Tenten in a brief hug. “Good to see you again!” she says, patting her briskly on the back. “You got anything new in the shop?” 

Tenten drags the toe of her sandal in the dirt demurely. “ _If_ you guys have time after your meetings, I just _might_ have some amazing new spider-silk tripwires to show you. Twice as thin, twice as strong.” 

“Sounds great!” Matsuri chirps.

“We’re supposed to show you to your accommodations. You’ll be staying right next to the Hokage towers,” Tenten explains, turning to walk. “Since your first meetings aren’t until tomorrow morning, you’ll have the evening to rest up. We were also instructed to offer to show you around, if any of you are interested.”

Falling into step behind her, Kankuro forces an exaggerated yawn, “Oh man, as much as I’d _love_ to get shown around the village we visit at least four times a year, I really am beat. I think I’ll just hang out in the hotel if that’s cool with you guys.” 

Gaara inclines his head towards Lee. “Kankuro is very taken with the room service chicken wings he had last time,” he whispers. Although his facial expression barely changes, Lee can hear the traces of a repressed smile in his voice. 

Lee grins back. “What about you, Gaara? Matsuri-san?”

Matsuri has already sidled up to Tenten, linking elbows. “I’d love to get shown around! This is my first guard mission, you know.” 

Tenten smiles at her, “Oh, that’s right! Normally Temari would be here. Is she okay?”

Kankuro chuckles, “Yeah, she’s okay, I’d say. Just enjoying some down time with her lover boy. You know, the deer guy?” He holds his hands up to his head, imitating antlers.

“You know very well his name is Shikamaru,” Gaara says, deadpan. “Also I think she wanted that kept private.”

“Ooh,” Tenten says, winking. “Not to worry, the secret’s safe with us!”

The corners of Gaara’s mouth quirk up in a minute smile. “I know,” he says.

Lee chokes back a cough. “And- “ another cough, “and Gaara? Will you stay at the hotel?”

Gaara narrows his eyes, briefly panning his gaze from Lee’s face to the fist in front of his mouth. “No,” he says. “I’d like to get out for a bit. Before I’m trapped in endless meetings.”

“Of course!” Lee claps him on the shoulder. His throat itches, stronger this time. He swallows around it. 

“Ah, we’re here,” Tenten says, gesturing at the door of the hotel. “Matsuri, I’ll show you to your room. We’ll meet back out front in 20 minutes, say?” 

“That’s acceptable,” Gaara says, nodding. 

“Please, follow me!” Lee says, gesturing Gaara and Kankuro to follow him. 

Tenten punches Kankuro lightly on the back of the shoulder. “Enjoy your wings,” she teases. “Be sure not to overeat.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies.

* * *

When they arrive at the door of the suite, Lee offers to wait downstairs while Gaara and Kankuro get settled in.

“No need,” Gaara says simply, already beginning to shuck off his travelling coat. “I will be ready shortly.” 

Lee nods in assent, averting his eyes from Gaara’s chest, exposed under his mesh shirt, as he starts getting changed. He feels a pressure in his throat, fluttering. He coughs, twice, into his fist, but the pressure gets worse. He feels his gorge rise; his stomach churns sickly. 

“I’m sorry,” Lee says, through coughs, “You’ll have to excuse me just a moment.” He dashes into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. 

As he hurries towards the public toilets, he hears Kankuro guffaw behind the door: “You embarrassed him!”

Lee nearly tears the door off its hinges as he staggers into a stall, neglecting to even lock it. The stall door swings lamely behind him. He hunches over the toilet bowl, gripping the rim. He coughs, again and again. Something is stuck in his throat. He pounds his chest twice, hoping to bring it up, to no avail. Whatever it is, he can feel it, slickly creeping up his esophagus. He heaves, but brings up nothing but clear liquid. He spits into the bowl, hacking. His throat stings with the effort. At a loss, he jams his hand into his mouth, poking his fingers as far back as he can reach. After a moment - _there_ \- he seizes on something thin and slippery. He tugs. Whatever it is comes loose, and with it the remainder of his late lunch. He coughs a few more times, but his throat finally feels clear. Through the edges of tears, he looks into the bowl. There floating, among the refuse, is something unidentifiable. Fighting back panic, Lee grabs it and ducks to the sink. 

_This is so disgusting._ Lee washes his hands vigorously, quickly unwrapping and rewrapping his hands with clean bandages from his vest. He rinses the foreign object, too, hoping its identity will become clear. The object is small, just a few inches long, and shaped like a pointed cylinder. It’s a dark red at one end, fading to white at the other. As Lee rubs it under the water, it starts to come apart - at least, that’s what he thinks initially. After further investigation, it becomes clear that it’s not coming apart, but unfurling. He spreads it between his fingers - _A flower bud?_

Lee is certain he hasn’t eaten anything even remotely resembling a flower. He picks it apart quickly - indeed, it’s a young flower, with crinkled petals curled around each other. _How on earth?_ Lee scrutinizes the bud, racking his mind for how it could have ended up inside him. The wind had been high earlier today, perhaps it had blown into his open mouth while he was training? Would it even be possible to swallow such a thing without noticing? 

Regardless of the oddity of the situation, Lee does have duties to attend to. He sweeps the bud into the trashcan and rinses his mouth out with water. At least his throat feels clear again, if a bit sore. 

He makes his way back to Gaara and Kankuro’s suite and knocks on the door. Almost instantly, Kankuro is throwing the door open.

“Room service?” Kankuro says excitedly, before recognizing Lee. “Oh, it’s just you.” He doesn’t even try to keep the disappointment off his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Lee says, grinning. “Is Gaara ready?” He determinedly does _not_ look over Kankuro’s shoulder, just in case Gaara is still changing. 

“Been ready,” Kankuro says, leaning back to call over his shoulder. “Yo, Gaara! Lee’s back.”

Gaara materializes behind Kankuro in a blink. “Yes, I could tell from the way you hadn’t started stuffing your face,” he says, ducking under Kankuro’s arm. 

“Hey-!” Kankuro calls out, as the door swings shut on him. Lee stifles a laugh. Gaara steps out into the hallway, directly into Lee’s personal space. He’s inches too close for comfort, his pale eyes boring into Lee’s. Lee feels his face heat, his throat stinging. He swallows audibly.

“Are you well?” Gaara asks, leaning back slightly to eye the rest of Lee’s body. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”

“I’m fine!” Lee chokes out, suppressing a cough. “Just had something stuck in my throat!” Lee forces a grin and a thumbs up, swallowing again to keep his eyes from watering. 

“If you aren’t well, don’t feel obligated to accompany me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” Gaara reminds him.

“It’s my duty!” Lee cries, swinging his arm over Gaara’s shoulder and steering him to the stairwell. “And I am fine, though I appreciate your concern.” Lee can feel the muscles of Gaara’s shoulders through the thin linen of his shirt. His throat aches. Eyes watering, he grates out, “Let’s go meet up with the girls!”

* * *

The Kazekage, as always, cuts an imposing figure through Konoha’s busy streets. People part around him in waves, sheltering whispers behind their hands. One or two children openly point and stare, only to be ushered away quickly by their parents. Despite Gaara’s long tenure as a peace-keeper, old prejudices run deep. And his celebrity makes him no more approachable than before. 

Tenten and Matsuri quickly split off from them, ducking into Tenten’s shop to coo over sharp implements, in the way that kunoichi are wont to do. Gaara, having no use for weapons, demurs, so he and Lee end up at the counter of Ichiraku Ramen, shoulder to shoulder, poring over a shared menu. The restaurant is packed, more popular than ever since the war, nearly every seat filled and a line growing at the door. 

“What kind of ramen do you like?” Lee asks, narrowly avoiding bumping into Gaara as another patron squeezes into the narrow space between the barstools to holler an order to the waitress. 

“I don’t know,” Gaara says, shoulder brushing Lee’s as yet another customer elbows into the gap next to his chair. “I normally just order whatever Naruto’s having.” 

Lee can barely hear him over the din of customers clamoring for the waitress’s attention. 

“The tonkatsu bowl is good, I hear!” he says. Perhaps too quietly, because Gaara leans even further into his space. 

“Which one?” he murmurs, directly into Lee’s ear. His breath brushes against Lee’s neck. Lee’s throat twinges; he swallows a gag and points mutely to a random picture on the menu. His eyes are watering so badly he can’t even be sure it’s the right one. 

Gaara raises a hand to summon the harried waitress, who arrives tucking sweaty hair under her kerchief. Lee can’t even make out the words Gaara exchanges with her through the pounding of blood in his ears. Someone bumps into his side, jostling his seat closer to Gaara’s until they’re pressed hip-to-hip. He barely makes out the waitress asking him for his order over the rising sickness in the back of his throat. 

“Just- “ he coughs behind his hand, “just water. Will be fine,” he coughs again. “Thank you.”

Gaara fixes him with a strange stare, which Lee pointedly ignores. His stomach churns. He excuses himself from conversing further by gesturing to the crowd behind them: _It’s much too loud_. 

Gaara’s food arrives, steaming merrily, in short order. The waitress sets down a large glass of water in front of Lee, along with a second set of chopsticks. 

“In case you want to share,” she says, with a wink. The back of Lee’s neck heats. He forces down a large gulp of water so he doesn’t have to reply. 

“Do you?” Gaara asks, leaning into Lee’s space again. The tickle of his breath against the back of Lee’s ear is almost too much to bear. 

“Do I-?” Lee chokes out, blinking back the watering of his eyes.

“Want to share?” Gaara reaches across Lee’s chest to hand him the chopsticks. Lee takes them, hand trembling, and their fingers brush. Lee raises his hand to his mouth to cover a gag.

In that same instant, someone bumps into the back of Gaara’s chair, sending him crashing into the counter. His arm, still outstretched, sweeps Lee’s water glass in one direction, his hot soup in the other, tipping over the counter and towards his lap.

Lee reacts without thinking. In a second, he’s on his feet, Gaara’s jacket held in his fist, his bar stool clattering to the floor. Gaara is frozen, dangling mid-air from Lee’s hand, a crescent of sand between himself and the spilled soup. The restaurant freezes in silence. 

“I’m so sorry!” shouts the girl who had bumped into Gaara, a short chuunin with her hair tied back whose name Lee can’t bring to mind in the moment. Gaara does not turn to acknowledge her. Instead, he cranes his head to face Lee.

“Lee,” he says, still hanging, undignified, in the air, “put me down.”

Bile surges in the back of Lee’s throat. His ears rush with the sound of his pulse. He raises his other hand to cover his mouth as something slick surges up the back of his tongue. He can barely acknowledge the tendrils of sand that work their way between his fingers, loosing his grip on Gaara’s jacket and lowering him to the ground. No sooner have Gaara’s feet touched the floor than Lee doubles over, hacking, hand over his mouth. 

Gaara ducks down and brings Lee’s arm over his shoulder. His sharp eyes work over Lee’s face quickly. “You’re not well,” he says. “We’re leaving.” A whirlwind of sand subsumes the pair, and in a moment they’re outside Lee’s apartment building. 

Lee staggers out of Gaara’s grasp and into the alleyway next to his building. He raises the lid of a trashcan and unceremoniously vomits into it. He makes out the bright red ends of two more flower buds glistening slickly in the bile. 

Once he straightens, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he becomes aware of Gaara standing mere inches behind him.

“Ah- Gaara, my apologies,” he croaks. “It seems I am more ill than I thought. I will take you back to the hotel.”

“No,” Gaara replies simply. “You’re sick. You will rest.” Before Lee can reply, Gaara has seized him by the shoulder and is steering him to the entrance of his building. 

“But-” Lee creaks out, “it’s my duty! The Hokage specifically requested that I- !”

Gaara is already marching him up the stairs, his hand firm in the small of Lee’s back.

“I will request a new escort.” Gaara is fumbling through the pockets of Lee’s vest for his keys, slinging Lee’s arm over his shoulder to support him. 

“I can- !” Lee protests weakly, but Gaara is already forcing sand into the lock, jimmying it open. He frog-marches Lee into his apartment, forcing his shoulders down until he’s sitting on the bed, and begins unzipping his jounin vest. His fingers are deft, making quick work of the zipper; tossing the vest aside, he bends to remove Lee’s sandals. 

Lee feels that now too-familiar itch in the back of his throat. He raises a hand to cover his mouth, trying vainly to suppress a gag. “Gaara, I’m going to- “

Gaara rolls him onto his side, face hanging over the edge of the bed, as the sand slots a bowl into place under him. With a heave, Lee chokes out three more flower buds. He has nothing left in him but water, brings up nothing more than bile. He’s dimly aware of Gaara’s long-fingered hand holding his hair back from his face. The thought makes him choke harder, gagging again, and he forces another bud up and out of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Lee groans. 

Gaara stands perfunctorily and paces to Lee’s kitchen, where he pours a glass of water. He brings this back to Lee’s bedside and urges him to sit up, bringing the glass to his mouth. He rests the cool back of his hand against Lee’s sweating forehead.

“You’re not feverish,” he says. Lee’s eyes clench and he swallows around another gag. “This exceeds my expertise. I will contact a medic.” In a swirl of sand, Gaara is gone. 

Almost instantly, the clench in Lee’s chest alleviates. He drags himself to sit and pulls the bowl into his lap with a slosh of flower buds and vomit. He can do nothing but stare, dumbfounded, and cough.

* * *

Gaara doesn’t come back. It’s probably for the best, in the end, because every time Lee thinks of him his chest tightens and he heaves. Lee drifts, halfway out of consciousness, until a pounding at his door rouses him. 

“It’s open,” he grates out, his throat still aching. He winces when the door slams open, bouncing off the adjacent wall. He hopes it doesn’t leave a mark; between that and the pockmarks in the floor from his weights he can kiss his security deposit goodbye. He hastily sweeps the bowl under his bed. 

“Tenten, what are you doing here?” he asks. She’s already at his bedside before he’s fully righted himself. 

“Gaara said you weren’t feeling well, so I came over right away,” she says, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. She checks his temperature with the back of his hand. “No fever.”

“I know, Gaara said- “ Lee hacks a cough but nothing comes up, “Gaara said the same thing.”

Tenten’s already rooting through his en suite bathroom for a hand towel, soaking it in the sink and bringing it back to lay across his brow. “Do you want me to go get a medic? It came on so suddenly,” she presses the rag to his forehead firmly. A trickle of water runs into his eyes and he squints it away.

“No, I’m fine,” he lies, badly. “I’m sure I just ate something that doesn’t agree with me.” Lee hopes that his pallor will conceal his deceit. It’s not even a whole lie, not exactly - after all, if he did somehow swallow a flower (or eight), that’s almost the same as eating it, isn’t it? 

Tenten narrows her eyes but doesn’t call him on it. “If you say so…” she trails off. 

Feeling a bit better, Lee struggles up to a sitting position. “Ah, Tenten-!” he gasps, “The escort mission! Who is with the Kazekage?”

“It’s fine, Lee,” Tenten reassures him, a firm hand on his shoulder pressing him to the bed, “I called in backup. They’re all in for the night anyway. Try to rest.” She slides the wet washcloth over his eyes, forcing them closed. 

Lee’s rest is fitful, but with Tenten at his bedside, he eventually sleeps.

* * *

Lee wakes the next morning feeling much improved. His eyes feel sticky and his throat still stings, but it’s a dull ache rather than a fresh wound. Tenten is puttering around his kitchen, making a pot of plain rice porridge, which she shoves into his lap. The bags under her eyes signal she hasn’t slept much, if at all. Lee hopes she didn’t doze off sitting up in his kitchen chairs, but there isn’t much in the way of other furniture in his apartment. 

“Try to eat this,” Tenten insists, shoving a spoon into his hand and propping him up against his pillows. She sets another glass of water at his bedside with a clatter. Lee distracts himself watching the condensation beading on the glass while he meekly swallows a few spoonfuls of tasteless sludge. 

“Thank you,” he says at length. “You didn’t have to stay with me all night.”

Tenten rolls her eyes, casually fluffing the pillow behind his back. “You would have done the same for me,” she chides him, flicking his ear. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Much,” he says, although his throat still burns when he swallows the warm porridge. He washes it down with a few sips of cold water, the ice clinking in the glass and Tenten’s soft-soled sandals tapping the floor the only sounds in his quiet apartment. “What time is it? Don’t we have to be back at the hotel?”

“It’s after three; we’ve been pulled off the mission,” Tenten says dismissively, taking his glass to the sink to refill. The set of her shoulders makes it clear she’s feeling as irritated about this as he is guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” Lee says, head hanging. His fingers pick at the weave of his blanket. He’s let down his teammate, the village, and Gaara. His chest seizes, intercostal muscles aching. 

“Unless you got sick on purpose, you have nothing to be sorry about. There are plenty of other ninja equally qualified to be the Kazekage’s- ” 

Something sour rises in the back of Lee’s throat and he lurches forward. Tenten is immediately at his side with a bowl. 

“Take it easy, it’s okay…” she murmurs, stroking up and down his back. The rising tide of sickness in Lee’s throat subsides. “Just lay back and rest, we don’t have to talk anymore.” She eases him back, carefully arranging him on the bed. 

She sits with him for a few long minutes, muttering nothings, just rubbing his back. Lee relaxes into the touch, boneless. Every muscle in his chest and stomach aches. His eyes are raw from salt. His mouth, despite the water Tenten keeps encouraging to his lips, is sour and dry. At some unseen signal, Tenten startles.

“Shit,” she says, “I have to get down to the mission desk to put in our report. Can you take care of yourself until I come back or do you want me to send Gai-sensei?”

“No,” Lee says, rolling into the fetal position. “The stairway is too narrow. I’ll be fine; I’m just going to sleep.” 

“If you’re sure,” Tenten says. She brushes his hair off his forehead again. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I need to shower and change but I’ll come back after that. I’ll pick up soup ingredients at the store.” 

Lee hears her pad to the door, the sound of it creaking open and the click of the lock behind her. He pulls the pillow over his head and doesn’t think anything more.

* * *

Lee loses track of time in his sleep. When he wakes up again, it’s dark.

Someone is clattering dishes in his kitchen. From the weight behind the sounds, he can tell it isn't Tenten. In the bare light from the streetlamp outside his window, he makes out the gleam of a metal wheel.

"Gai-sensei?" he croaks, craning his neck to peer into the darkness of the kitchenette.

"Ah, my handsome student. You're finally awake." Even Gai-sensei's whisper is booming in the stillness of Lee's quiet apartment building.

"Where's Tenten?" Lee is able to drag himself upright to look around. There's no sign of Tenten anywhere.

"I sent her home. She hadn't slept and she needed the rest. Instead, I am here to prepare a nutritious meal for you that will restore your vitality!"

Lee's stomach rolls at the thought of the last 'cure-all' dish Gai-sensei had prepared for him.

"Gai-sensei, I don't think that's necessary- "

"Nonsense!" Gai-sensei half shouts. Lee's downstairs neighbor bangs something against her ceiling. Gai-sensei lowers his voice. "What I mean to say is, as my student, you deserve my full attention and best care! I would be negligent as a teacher to not attend to you during your illness."

"I'm feeling much better, sensei," Lee says, although he doesn't feel much better at all. "You don't have to worry about me."  
Gai-sensei wheels closer to his bed and flicks on the bedside light. From the look of startled disgust on his sensei's face, Lee can tell he must look awful. He offers a weak smile and feels his bottom lip crack.

"Of course I have to worry about you," Gai-sensei says in a soft voice. "It's not like you to get ill so suddenly."

"Ah," Lee stammers, thinking to the bowl of flower buds still under his bed. They must be starting to stink by now, although the taste of bile in his throat seems to have eliminated his sense of smell as well. "I- I think I just ate something off." The lie comes easier now, practiced, but he still has to cough to cover up the way his voice cracks. 

Gai-sensei studies Lee’s face for an interminable minute before breaking off with a loud “So- !” Lee’s neighbor pounds on her ceiling again. Poor Kaizawa-san, Lee will have to apologize to her tomorrow. Gai-sensei’s mouth forms a thin line. Rather than speaking again, he wheels to the kitchen and returns with a bowl of thin soup, which he forces into Lee’s hands. 

Lee stares down into it reluctantly. It has the appearance of a normal miso soup, but knowing Gai-sensei it probably has some sort of macronutrient or multivitamin powder in it. Lee looks over at Gai-sensei, who’s making his most encouraging hand gestures. Lee braces himself, and takes a small, tentative sip.

“It’s delicious!” Lee cries. Three more solid knocks come through the floor, more insistent this time. If he’s not careful, she’ll march right upstairs and give him a real dressing down; he should know better than to be so careless when the walls and floors are so thin. There’s a reason his landlord wrote a specific no-Gai-sensei-after-dark prohibition into his lease, after all. Making a conscious effort to keep his voice low, despite how badly it scratches at his throat, Lee asks: “Did you make this yourself?” 

Gai-sensei glances askance at the floor, a bit shamefaced. “Ah, no. Well, I intended to. Tenten had already purchased this at the store and she insisted I bring it to you. Of course I would have preferred to bring a homemade meal to my precious student- !” Gai-sensei throws a hand dramatically across his brow. “But I could not bear for my _other_ precious student to waste her hard earned money! Rest assured, Lee, next time you’re sick I will bring you only the most nutritionally complete meals, handmade with love and the caring affection of a teacher to his student!” 

Gai-sensei’s voice has been rising all the while. Moments later, there is a pounding at Lee’s door. Lee rises to go answer it, but Gai-sensei pushes his shoulder back down and leaves him sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t strain yourself! I will attend to this!” 

Lee sees the enraged grimace of Kaizawa-san from downstairs through the crack in the door when Gai-sensei lets himself into the hallway. He raises a hand in apology but her narrowed eyes make him think forgiveness is not in her plans. Gai-sensei shuts the door behind him but Lee can hear Kaizawa-san’s raised voice in the hall. Something about _at this hour_ and _an ounce of common courtesy_ and _not even allowed to be here_. It carries on for quite some time. 

Gai-sensei finally makes it back into Lee’s apartment, looking a bit intimidated and suitably chastised. 

“Your, uh, most energetic neighbor has just reminded me of the visitor specifications in your lease,” Gai-sensei admits, rubbing at his breastbone. Lee is almost certain that Kaizawa-san has employed her most threatening pointer finger - not quite as terrifying as having a kunai pointed at oneself, but it’s a near thing. “I must say, she has the temperament and character of a fine warrior!”

“Yes, Kaizawa-san is quite … strong-willed,” Lee responds, glancing nervously at the door. Hopefully Kaizawa-san has already returned to her apartment and isn’t simply waiting in the hallway to ensure Gai-sensei leaves. 

“Such a fiery spirit is most admirable!” Gai-sensei pauses. “But, it would not do for me to be responsible for you being evicted from your apartment. So I will take my leave. You will go to the hospital if you aren’t feeling better, won’t you?”

Lee struggles to meet Gai-sensei’s eyes. To tell the truth, he isn’t feeling much better at all. But surely this will pass. With hard work and determination, Lee is certain he can conquer a simple stomach bug. Regardless of its unusual nature.

“Lee?” Gai-sensei prompts. “Promise me.”

“Of course, sensei!” Lee says, giving a thumbs up.

“Excellent!” Gai-sensei makes his way to Lee’s window and props it open. Balancing on the sill, he lifts his wheelchair and tosses it to the roof of the next building over, where it lands with a metallic clatter. Lee winces - it’s a miracle that Gai-sensei doesn’t go through wheelchairs faster than he already does. He says a silent prayer of thanks that the building is a business and is probably empty for the night. Gai-sensei swings his legs over the ledge and balances on his arms.

“Oh,” Gai-sensei pauses, turning to look over his shoulder, “I forgot to mention - the Kazekage was asking after you today. His team is leaving late tomorrow morning. You might see him off at the gate, just to assure him you’re all right. I think you frightened him.”

Sour liquid fills the back of Lee’s throat. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from visibly gagging. He doesn’t dare open his mouth to respond. Instead, he gives another thumbs up and what he’s sure is a weak and watery smile. 

He needn’t have bothered anyway, within just a moment, Gai-sensei has swung himself out the window by his arms and Lee hears the soft _thud_ of him landing securely in his chair. The rhythmic sound of rubber wheels over roof tiles assures him that his sensei is already on his way home. 

Lee leans over and vomits into his empty soup bowl. In the yellow light of the bedside lamp, Lee makes out a single-lobed leaf, floating in the remains of his dinner. Something catches in the back of his throat and he coughs, scraping it against the roof of his mouth. He spits out a string of saliva and blood. He catches something hard in his teeth, which he spits directly into his hand. He knows at this point that he hasn’t eaten anything other than soup and porridge, yet sitting in the palm of his bandaged hand is a woody stem. 

Lee clenches his eyes shut and tries to breathe.

* * *

Lee spends much of the following morning scrubbing out his dishes and trying to make himself presentable. Looking at himself in the mirror is a bit of a horror - his eyes are bloodshot all the way around and there are tiny petechiae in the creases of his eyelids. His lips are cracked and his tongue feels swollen in his mouth. He brushes his teeth as many times as he can stand and rinses his mouth again and again, until his gums sting as badly as his throat. 

Scrubbing all the sweat off his body feels heavenly but the reek of his jumpsuit is almost intolerable. He briefly considers making a trip to the communal laundry room before he has to go to the gates, but just the thought of making that extra trip makes his stomach tilt uneasily. He settles on burying it at the bottom of his laundry hamper - he’ll take care of it once he’s feeling a bit more steady. He weighs the idea of drinking a cup of coffee to wake himself up - it wouldn’t do to be drowsy when he goes to see Gaara off - but his chest heaves once, warningly, and he decides on a mug of plain green tea. 

Lee devotes a few moments to digging through his cabinets until he unearths a box of mochi - taro flavored - to which he affixes a heartfelt apology note. He slips this into Kaizawa-san’s mail slot as he makes his way to the front door of his building. 

He checks the clock in the entryway - _right on time_ \- and braces himself against another wave of nausea. He can do this. He is a strong, powerful shinobi and will not be laid low by some silly, ridiculous, medically improbable stomach bug. He seizes the doorknob to the building and takes a final, stabilizing breath. 

He opens the door to find Gaara, frozen just beyond the threshold, finger poised over the buzzer marked ‘Rock Lee’. He’s wearing his travelling cloak, freshly cleaned and pressed, and his brow is furrowed just so. He meets Lee’s eyes in surprise, his lower lip just barely dropping open around an exhale. 

“Lee,” Gaara says, softly. 

“Ah, Gaara- !” Lee’s stomach churns. He raises a hand to his mouth and stifles a cough. 

“You look terrible,” Gaara says without hesitation. 

“I apologize for my appearance!” Lee says, fighting back the bile rising in his throat. 

“No,” Gaara leans in close, eyes scanning over Lee’s face. “What I mean to say is: you look very sick. You should be in bed.”

“I wanted to come- “ Lee coughs abruptly. Something crests the back of his throat but he swallows it back. “- see you off. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Gaara narrows his eyes. “You’re worrying me now.” 

“I’m sorry- “ Lee bends to bow his head but the sour taste in his throat quickly disabuses him of the notion. 

Gaara doesn’t acknowledge his apology at all. Instead, he reaches inside his cloak and brings out a small wooden box. “I brought you tea. I don’t get sick, but Kankuro told me this is the best kind for an upset stomach.” He presses the box into Lee’s hands. His fingers are warm and soft around Lee’s. 

Lee opens his mouth to thank Gaara, to tell him that it’s too much and that he needn’t have troubled himself, but in that moment, something massive - bigger than the buds and leaves and sticks - rises in Lee’s throat. He chokes out a noise, horrible and rough and grating, seizing the neck of his jumpsuit. Sweat beads on his forehead. 

Gaara’s eyes widen in alarm and he reaches out towards Lee. The box of tea tumbles to the ground. Lee crouches over, grabbing his knees. He coughs, hacking and heaving. _It’s stuck._ The dusky red leather of Gaara’s boots swims in front of his eyes.

Before he can properly make sense of what is happening, two more pairs of feet appear to Gaara’s left and right. 

Lee’s vision is getting foggy and his ears are full of the pounding of his heart, but he can just make out Matsuri’s voice saying, “Kazekage-sama, we have to leave.”

Small, firm hands seize Lee’s shoulders and waist. A fist pounds on his back. Over the rushing of sand he hears himself miserably gag into the street. Flecks of vomit spatter his feet but his throat, at least, is finally clear. Lee blinks back tears and gratefully swallows a mouthful of air. 

As his field of vision brightens again, Lee makes out a strange shape in the pooling liquid. Five wrinkled petals, fanned out in a star around a trumpet-shaped base, blood red at the edges and fading to white in the center. _A flower,_ Lee realizes dimly. Panic rises in his chest and throbs in his head. Things start to go gray around the edges.

He hears Tenten’s voice saying, “What the _hell?_ ” Then he blacks out.

* * *

Lee comes to in phases. First, he’s aware of the prick of a needle and the flushing of cold saline through his veins. He makes out the distant murmuring of voices and the mechanical beep of far-away machines. His head bobs treacherously on his neck when he turns to try to orient himself. His name - _“Lee?”_ \- comes to him, fuzzy and distorted, and his consciousness struggles towards that sound.

When his eyes finally open he’s overwhelmed with white - white walls, white sheets, white overhead fluorescent lights, the white of Tenten’s jacket and the white of her knuckles, fingers clenched on her knees. 

He takes a long time to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

“Tenten?” he says, finally, labored. On the table at his bedside is the box of tea, a bit dusty but fully intact. His stomach gurgles and he clumsily tries to bring a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, thank god,” Tenten breathes out. “Just hang tight for a second, let me go get Sakura.” 

He stares at the box as her feet patter rapidly out of the room behind his back, biting his tongue against the nausea. A white coat sways into his vision, obscuring his view of the side table, and the sick feeling subsides. 

“Lee,” Sakura says, drawing his attention to her face. Her expression is drawn and guarded but she meets his eye with a reassuring smile. Lee attempts a grin in response but his mouth is too dry to cooperate. “I’m glad to see you’re up. Please lay back so I can examine you.” She snaps on her gloves with skilled efficiency and places her palms on his stomach, the soft blue glow of chakra surrounding her hands. 

Lee’s eyes drift closed, crusted with salt and sleep. Tenten’s calloused hand grips his, rough fingers caressing his knuckles in a comforting rhythm. Sakura’s mutters fade into the background as his mind drifts back towards sleep. 

Dimly he hears a gasp, more muttering. He’s half-aware of Sakura leaving the room and more medical ninja entering, the shuffling of their soft-soled shoes around his bedside, the low hush and hum of their voices. The rattle of wheels, the clatter of implements and vials on a tray. The sterile coolness of many hands on his stomach, his chest, his brow. All throughout, Tenten doesn’t let go of his hand. He squeezes back, weakly, when he can.

It’s hours later when he finally awakes, the low sun cutting a shaft of orange light into his hospital room, staining the twin nodding heads of Sakura and Tenten in their chairs with a soft wash of yellow. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a croak. Sakura’s head jerks to alertness, her elbow reflexively jabbing Tenten’s side. Sakura forces a cup of water into his hands while Tenten props him upright with her body, half-sitting on his bed to hold him up. 

The icy wash of the water hits the back of his throat like a panacea, numbs away the ache and bite of the past day’s abuses. He swallows gratefully, gulps down the full glass and has it immediately replaced by another. 

Sakura rests her hand on his knee. 

“Lee,” she says gently, “we’ve run a lot of tests. I’m still waiting for a few final results from the lab, but … ” Her expression darkens. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. There’s something organic disrupting the chakra patterns in your digestive system. And it seems to be growing. What I need from you is a complete history of everything you’ve done the past few days: when this started, symptoms, what you ate, who you talked to, any enemies you may have encountered, any detail you think might be salient.”

Lee’s eyes grow wide. He hadn’t considered that this strange illness could be a malicious jutsu. He casts his eyes over to Tenten. She nods her encouragement, a furrow of worry creasing her forehead. 

“I was feeling fine until two days ago,” Lee starts. “I haven’t even left the village in the past two weeks, since I got back from a mission in Iwa. I haven’t been anywhere special - the training field, the grocery store, Gai-sensei’s house, that’s it.” His speech picks up speed, coming more smoothly. He steadies his body with his own hands, sitting up more fully. “Tenten and I were assigned a simple escort mission for the Kazekage’s visit…” He clears his throat when it begins to tickle. “I first got sick when I was in Gaara’s hotel room.” The memory brings a fresh wash of bile across the back of his tongue. He gags, swallows loudly. 

Sakura presses a faintly glowing hand to his chest and her eyes widen in shock. 

“Lay back down,” she says, pushing him back to the pillows while Tenten stands. 

“What’s wrong?” Tenten asks, hands raised in a defensive gesture, as if warding off whatever is happening to Lee.

“Just now,” Sakura says, now moving her hands in slow circles over Lee’s abdomen, “it just moved. Lee, please keep talking.”

“Um,” he says, flushing faintly at the memory, “Gaara had to change, and I -” his stomach churns, “- had to go to the bathroom to ... throw up, and there was something … odd in my um, in … it,” he finishes awkwardly. 

“Why didn’t you say anything about it to me?” Tenten barks out, accusation in her tone.

“I ... didn’t think it was important?” Lee says, shifting his gaze from her outraged expression to the side table, where the small brown box is backlit by the setting sun. “I wasn’t going to let a little sickness-” he coughs, rolls to his side, “-stop me from fulfilling my duty to-” he leans fully over the edge of the bed, sides heaving. Sakura hands him a basin. “-the Kazekage,” he finishes, and then retches. Up comes a mouthful of warm water, the coppery tang of blood, and floating in the middle of it all, circling each other like koi fish, two red and white flower petals. 

Sakura stares at him aghast, eyes flickering between the basin in his hands and his blood-flecked mouth. 

“I need to see Lady Tsunade,” she says, and storms out of the room.

* * *

A sallow-faced medic comes by later to tell Lee he has to stay at the hospital overnight, on bed rest, for observation. Tenten hasn’t left his side but she also isn’t speaking to him, and when they get the news she lifts her nose with a satisfied little ‘hmph’ that means she thinks it serves him right for lying to her. 

One night of observation turns into two, which stretches into three. Tenten goes home to rest and Gai-sensei comes in to play jailer, strictly enforcing the bedrest mandate. Gai-sensei seems to have a sixth sense for exertion; even if he appears to be nodding off in his chair, Lee can’t sneak in so much as a sit-up before his teacher is bolt-upright, hollering at him to rest. 

Slowly, Lee does start to feel better. With proper hydration and rest he’s able to keep down broth, then plain rice, then applesauce. Tenten takes the box of tea back to his apartment, promises to water his plants for him, and he breathes a little easier, feels less like he’s being strangled from the inside. Sakura brings in flowers from Ino’s shop, cheerful yellow daisies and bright sunflowers that make the experience of staring out the unchanging window more bearable. 

The nausea comes and goes in waves with no clear trigger - one day he barely feels it at all, but the next day the sight of a red-headed nurse entering his room for a linen change is all it takes to send him heaving into a basin. He brings up a couple more petals, once a leaf, but no more full flowers and considers that progress. 

On his 4th day in the hospital, Sakura comes back, a haggard expression on her face and a heavy book under one arm. She props it against the edge of his bed with a clatter and Gai-sensei startles awake from where he’d been napping at Lee’s bedside with a surprised grunt. The book is massive, with a stained and tarnished cover, pages browning and wrinkled at the edges. Its spine creaks and cracks when she opens it, deftly flipping to the middle. 

“So,” Sakura announces abruptly, finger tracing down the page, “I think we might have figured out what’s going on with you.”

Lee scrambles to prop himself up on his elbows, attention rapt. 

“What is it?” Gai-sensei leans forward in his chair, intent. 

“I’ll be honest, we still don’t entirely know. This was the only book we could find in the entire library that references anything similar to your condition, Lee. And obviously it’s not completely up-to-date with current medical ninjutsu; it’s more folktales and rumors than actual medicine,” she pauses, sighs, brushes some hair out of her face. “Here’s what we do know. Your condition has a name: Hanahaki.”

* * *

When Sakura finally leaves the room, with a promise that she and Lady Tsunade are consulting with medi-nin from other villages, Lee’s head is spinning. Phrases like _caused by unrequited love_ and _triggered by proximity or memory_ and _short term solution_ and _high potential for recurrence_ circle the slowly draining fishbowl of his mind. His jaw hangs slack with indecision. Gai-sensei’s expression is grave in a way that Lee has only ever seen twice before: once, when Neji was confirmed dead, and once, prior to the experimental surgery he had as a genin. 

And that’s the other elephant in the room: the surgery. The only alternative if medication doesn’t work. The one that could potentially kill him: that could root out the plants that are currently feeding off his chakra points at the expense of destroying his chakra system entirely; that even if superficially successful could cause unseen damage to his chakra pathways that would make opening the third and fourth gates fatal; that, even if it were a complete, unilateral success, would necessarily strip away his ability to feel _love_ at all. 

And not just _love_ in the classical, romantic sense, _all_ love - the love he feels for his teammates, for his sensei, for his friends, for his village. His love for the squirrel that he passes every Saturday on his way to the supermarket and old lady Hanaka who always saves him the spiciest peppers behind her stall at the market, because she knows they’re his favorites. For the taste of his first cup of coffee in the morning and the feeling of a brisk jog around the village at 5 AM. His love for sunny afternoons and cool swims in the river and the crack of his shin hitting a new training post. When they say _love_ , it turns out, what they really mean is _joy_. 

Lee’s eyes well up with tears that he hastily brushes away, his face hot with frustration. 

“But I’m not even … in love,” he protests weakly. 

Gai-sensei lays a comforting arm around his shoulder. 

“Whatever your decision may be, I’m here,” he says.

* * *

Gai-sensei accompanies Lee on the long walk to the pharmacy, arms laden down with bags of medications that shake like a death rattle in his hands. He follows him to the Hokage’s office, where Lee bites his lip, lifts his chin and formally requests to be removed from the active duty roster until his treatment is completed. He even goes with him to the mission desk, where Lee turns in the assignment scrolls for all his missions for the next month, and stares down the short-haired chuunin behind the counter when she asks Lee what’s wrong. When it comes time to return home, though, Lee shakes his head and insists that Gai-sensei go back to his own house and rest. He’s done so much, Lee can’t possibly ask more of him. And he needs to face the looming eventuality of civilian life - possibly indefinite - on his own. 

Lee enters his apartment without ceremony, shoulders low and his legs feeling heavier, somehow, without his training weights. He pours himself a glass of water and takes his first pill - a pesticide, really, Sakura had explained - standing at his kitchen sink, staring out the window across the roofs of the village. 

There’s something white on his kitchen table, he notices in the reflection of the glass, presumably missed in all the bustle of storing his medications, checking on his plants (well cared for, thanks to Tenten), and throwing away the expired leftovers from his fridge. He drains his glass of water, mindful of Sakura’s warnings about dehydration, before he turns to the table to examine it. All it is is a small, folded piece of paper, plain white and rough around the edges. It isn’t a Get Well Soon card, though he received many of them - Tenten had already taken care to arrange all of them neatly on his coffee table, in between flowers from Hinata and Kurenai-sensei and a box of chocolates, suspiciously missing all the caramels (Tenten’s favorites) from Chouji. Nor is it likely to be from his landlord - he’s paid up a month in advance, as is his custom. Briefly probing the edges of the paper for a chakra signature that would indicate a trap, and finding nothing, he unfolds the note. 

Inside are just a few words, written in the craggy script and blotchy ink of someone with little formal handwriting training:

_I’m sorry to hear you are still unwell. I am wishing you a speedy recovery. You will be in my thoughts._

At the bottom, it’s signed, simply: _Gaara_

A small smile breaks over Lee’s face at the same time as a now-familiar tickle climbs the back of his throat. How thoughtful, how kind, that Gaara would set aside his duties as the Kazekage to check in on a foreign ninja. His mind drifts to a memory of pale green eyes searching his own, the brush of breath on the back of his ear, a warm arm around his back, supporting him. His throat stings and his stomach roils; something sharp and slippery grates against the back of his tongue. He thinks about soft hands, warm uncalloused fingers brushing his own as they pass him a box of tea.

He runs to his sink and heaves, and heaves, and heaves. Up comes his water, his half-digested pill, his hospital-approved nutritious breakfast and lunch. And amid all that, speckled with blood and bile, sits a single blossom, five petals, white in the center fading to red at the edges. Seeing it clearly for the first time, he recognizes it from his Academy classes on foreign biology: _Adenium obesum_ , the Desert Rose, native only to Suna and the surrounding deserts of Wind Country. 

In the back of his mind, his own protests ring false: _But I’m not even in love._

* * *

Lee adjusts to being off active duty about as poorly as could be expected. The medication makes him weak and wobbly - it’s nonspecific, Sakura had explained, so it targets his internal organs just as much as it targets the plants. Still, he swallows the poison dutifully, though it burns on the way down and just as harshly on the way up. Sometimes he dreams he can see it working - a sick black miasma that withers the flowers in its wake, dousing his body, wicking away at his bones and sinew, spreading like a plague through his tissues, his blood. Eating away at the roots of the flowers that grow inside him, but eating away at him too. 

He initially tries to keep up his typical training routine, although surreptitiously, to avoid being caught by Tenten or Gai-sensei. The medicine leaves him with a fatigue that no amount of self-challenge can overcome, frequently ending with him gasping for breath over relatively minor exertions. On more than one occasion, he finds himself groggily waking from unconsciousness on his living room floor; once, embarrassingly, to Tenten’s tapping foot and judgmental stare. After that she sets a strict visitation schedule: Gai-sensei checks on him in the mornings, and she checks in on him at night. 

If one of them is indisposed, a rotating cast of friends and well-wishers make their way through Lee’s apartment: Sakura, Ino, Naruto, Shikamaru, Chouji, Kiba, even shy Hinata and reserved Shino. They fill his apartment with joy and light, bring him gifts of fruit and conversation. They’ll chatter with him about this and that: the local neighborhood gossip, their families. When the conversation turns to work, though, they often trail off, a look of guilt in their eyes. The word “mission” sticks in their throats. Lee gets accustomed to long silences and awkward goodbyes. 

Even when the medicine is working as it should, sometimes the nausea still creeps up on him. Certain things that set off that tickling feeling in the back of his throat: a piece of pottery glazed in the exact same shade of jade as Gaara’s eyes, someone’s narrow shoulders in a maroon canvas jacket seen from behind, the rough patter of Suna’s dialect overheard at the market. He becomes acquainted with the clatter of his knees hitting the bathroom tile, the rush of water and petals down the drain. His cheeks get puffy and swollen, painful. One morning he wakes up with his right eye completely bloodshot from a burst blood vessel. He brushes his teeth until his gums bleed but often he can still taste the vomit on the back of his tongue. Sometimes just walking too fast makes his heart skip a beat. 

He starts going out less, staying home more, keeping things simple and predictable, routine. He stores away everything that reminds him of Gaara: the box of tea and Get Well Soon note are tucked into the back of a drawer, which he never opens. He gives his small potted succulents away to Tenten, just for safekeeping, just until he’s better. There’s a picture of them together on his bookshelf, Gaara congratulating him on passing the second chuunin exams. He turns the frame towards the wall but can’t bear to put it away entirely. On bad days, even the sight of the cardboard backing of the photograph makes him gag. 

Gai-sensei develops a low-impact training routine so Lee doesn’t lose his strength entirely - mostly yoga, stretching, tai chi. Lee comes to appreciate the slow, tender burn of his muscles, so different from the blur of fast movement and searing pain that he’s used to. Even this sometimes leaves him breathless. But on his worst days he fights through: just one more rep, just one more stretch, even if he ends up dizzy and retching on the floor, the image of his body withering from the inside stark in his mind. He won’t let himself give up. 

He starts watching Kaizawa-san’s children when she goes out, as much a favor to him as it is to her. Taro-kun, age 3, and Momo-chan, age 5, are a rambunctious delight. Kaizawa-san’s husband, a chuunin who specializes in espionage, is often far from home. It’s difficult for her to get things done around the house with a boisterous toddler and precocious daughter eager to enter the academy. Lee keeps them occupied with games he remembers from the orphanage and light training exercises. He attempts to teach them to balance a leaf on their foreheads using chakra alone (this mostly involves Momo-chan tilting her head back as far as she can while her brother tries to blow the leaf off her forehead), and simple rhyming mnemonics to help remember the Shinobi rules. At times their enthusiasm overwhelms him and his heart aches with the abstract thought of a future - a genin team, a child of his own - that seems unreachable for him now. He relishes when he’s able to carry them around on his back, play roughhousing games that make them shriek with delight, and has to hold back tears at times when his body won’t let him do much more than sit quietly with them and read storybooks. 

One evening Kaizawa-san returns later than expected. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Half of downtown is shut down in preparation for the Five Kage meeting next week.”

Lee brushes it off, refuses to accept the bills she tries to force into his hands for his trouble, waves goodbye to the kids with the biggest smile he can muster. He gets upstairs to his apartment with his head already swimming, his stomach lurching in time with his telltale heartbeat. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts retching, something thick jabbing at his soft palate. Blood spatters his lips and the toilet seat. His vision grays out around the edges, in the familiar way that tells him he’s not getting enough air. He jams one hand into his mouth, grabs onto something wet and _pulls_. Out comes a flower, fully formed, trailing its thick stem and saliva-spattered leaves. His throat scrapes raw and he spits a mouthful of red into the bowl while he throws the flower into the trash, hard and bitter. He stands on wobbly legs, knees knocking together. His sweaty hands slip-slide on the edge of the sink and the tile looms up to meet him. 

* * *

He wakes up to Tenten’s muffled scream when she finds him collapsed on the bathroom floor for the second time in as many months. She drags his stubborn body to the hospital over his protests; Gai-sensei meets them there. Lee drifts hazily, Sakura’s blue-swathed hands a soothing pressure that distracts from Gai-sensei’s furrowed brow, Tenten’s clenched jaw. The snap of Sakura’s gloves being removed and discarded brings him back to the present. 

“It’s getting worse,” she says with a dull finality. “We can increase the dosage of your medication, but…” Her eyes cast down to the floor. “You probably have a week, maybe a week and a half, before the damage is too severe for the surgery to be an option anymore.”

She leaves the room with a half-comforting squeeze to his shoulder, a murmured reassurance that everything will be okay. Tenten and Gai-sensei regard him with identical expressions of worry and fear. Gai-sensei opens his mouth as if to speak, but then seems to think the better of it. Tenten just shakes her head, eyes wet and unfocused. 

Lee is forced to verbalize his choices: To continue living like this forever, a life that hardly resembles a life - or at least, _his_ life - anymore; to get the surgery, risk everything and accept the calculated loss in the pursuit of his ninja way; or to reach out to Gaara, speak his heart, and hope for the best. Stated like that, the choice is simple. Lee has never wanted anything in his life that he didn’t rush after headlong. Why should this be any different?

* * *

When the troupe of Suna nin arrive at the gate, Lee is waiting for them. His last few nights have been sleepless and his ankles tremble, a novel sensation that only adds to his disquiet. He’s taken a double dose of his medication, in flagrant violation of medical advice, and chews ginger nervously to keep the nausea at bay. Even so, when Gaara’s white hat crests the final hill leading to the village, he has to bite the inside of his cheek until it bleeds, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep his lunch from coming up. 

Gaara’s eyes widen minutely in alarm when they meet Lee’s, grow wider when he gets closer and sees him - _truly_ sees him. His hand comes up instantly to cup Lee’s jaw and Lee resists leaning into his warm skin. 

“Lee,” he says, thumb stroking across Lee’s cheekbone. 

Lee takes a deep breath. His heart flutters like the wings of dragonflies dying. “Gaara,” he starts, stops. Swallows hard. “I need to talk to you, do you have a minute?”

Gaara’s eyes narrow, an expression that few would recognize as worry. He drops his hand and regards his gathered entourage, then nods once, self-assured. “Of course,” he says. 

They walk to the training field, the streets blessedly deserted at this time of day. Lee picks his way there slowly, stumbles only once despite the weakness in his extremities. Gaara’s sand catches him by the back of his vest and pulls him upright. Several times Gaara’s jaw clicks and Lee’s shoulders tense, waiting for him to speak, but only silence follows. 

When they arrive, Lee turns to face Gaara, grips his soft, warm hands between his large and bandaged ones. Lee inhales through his nose, spits a small string of bile and blood into the dirt - rude and vile, but necessary. Then he opens his mouth and begins to speak - every thought, every feeling, every imagining that has brought him to retching and to tears over the past two months streams out. Spilling his heart is cathartic in a way that spilling his guts has never been. He speaks without pausing, without drawing breath, the only way to keep words coming out instead of flowers. His vest pocket, stuffed with notes written and rewritten, weighs heavy on his chest, right over the eighth gate, where the flowers’ deepest roots have taken up their space. Finished, he stands there gasping, eyes full of unshed tears. _Here is my open chest, here is my cracked ribcage. Here is my beating heart, heavy and wet and red like the petals of a Desert Rose, and held out for your hands to take, if you want it._ Lee chokes back a gag that masquerades itself as a sob. 

Gaara’s gaze is level but oddly liquid, his mouth pulled low in a small frown, the expression utterly unfamiliar to Lee. His eyes track quickly from one side of Lee’s face to the other. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, fidgets his fingers inside Lee’s. The sand rustles unevenly in the gourd at his hip. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again with a quiet, moist _pop_. His lips are pink, the skin around them pale and bloodless. 

Lee wants to kiss him, maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything in the world. Maybe even more than he wants to be a ninja. He leans forward towards his toes, parts his lips to ask. His heart skips a beat, then two, then three. He’s dizzy, weightless, suspended on the precipice in the moment before Gaara speaks. 

Gaara’s hands tug back and free themselves from Lee’s grip. An abrupt wave of sand rushes over their feet, swirls around their ankles in a rough circle. Gaara drops his gaze to watch it, raises his eyes again to meet Lee’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Gaara says, wetly. “I don’t think…” His breath is coming faster now, the sand hissing its agitation. “I _can’t_.” His voice breaks on the last word. “Not now, but maybe one day…” The end of his sentence hangs unfinished in the air between them. 

Lee takes a step back, shakes the sand loose from his ankles. “I understand,” he says solemnly. 

Something cracks loose inside his ribs, traces its way, rough and sinister, up his esophagus. Leaves unfurl, wet and ragged, between his intercostal muscles. The sharp edge of a sepal abrades his vocal chords from the inside. If he pressed his hand to his chest right now he’s certain he would feel them blooming, one by one, beneath his skin.

“This changes nothing,” Gaara says, reaching out for Lee with one hand. “I still consider you my very dear friend.” The sand batters Gaara’s hand back to his side and he looks at it aghast, his expression one of subtle betrayal, but he doesn’t try to reach for Lee again.

Around the pressure in his airway, Lee chokes out, “You are precious to me, no matter what. I will _always_ be your friend.” With the final word, a flower blooms between his lips. 

Gaara’s eyes grow wide and startled, the whites visible all the way around. 

Lee reaches into his mouth and snaps the stem.

* * *

The next day, Lee stands alone in front of a white-painted metal door with a thin window cut into it. All that stands between him and his decision is a thin pane of glass and two layers of steel. 

His three choices, now narrowed down to two. Either to accept the surgery and cut himself off from love forever to pursue his ninja way; or to take the medicine and wait for Gaara, for a happy ending that may never come. 

He raises his hand and knocks twice, sharply. 

Sakura opens the door, face as white as her medical robes. 

“You know what you want to do?” she asks. 

Lee nods once, and steps inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to everyone in the GaaLee Discord for sprinting with me and helping me work through this story. Thank you so much for reading! Sorry for not writing something sweet and happy. I promise I'll be updating Superbloom soon for all your fluff and romance needs.


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